Falconer's Trial (27 page)

‘What are you doing, mistress. The master is dying.’

Saphira pointed to a feathery plant beside the track.

‘Look. Fresh dill. It will be much more effective than the dried anethum I have brought.’

She grabbed up a handful of the aniseed-smelling herb, and climbed back on her mount. When they galloped into the courtyard at Botley, an anxious Sir Humphrey already stood at the door to let her in. She left Sekston to deal with the horses, and grabbing her box, ran up the steps to the manor house door. The old knight, trembling with shock, led her directly to a small solar at the back of the raised gallery above the old hall. Eddington lay on his bed, pale and still. For a moment she thought she was too late, but then he groaned and threshed his limbs.

‘Please help him. He is my brother. I cannot bear the thought that he will die as Ann did.’

Sir Humphrey’s face was grey and his shoulders bent, as if with a heavy burden. He had clearly been deeply disturbed by what had been happening around him for a long while now. This could be the final straw that broke him. Saphira murmured reassurances, even though she could not be certain she was in time to save Eddington. She opened her box and issued firm orders to the servants who stood, mouths agape, in the doorway.

‘Fetch me fresh milk and cream if you have it, but first take this dill and steep it in warm water.’

Sir Humphrey turned to his servants, who were stupefied by the events. He growled out a peremptory set of commands.

‘Sally, take the dill and boil it in the water on the fire in the kitchen. Margery, you go to the dairy and bring milk and cream. Now.’

It was not long before Sally returned with a cauldron of water smelling strongly of aniseed. She set it down on the floor and Saphira poured a good dose of oil into it, stirring it with her hand.

‘Now. Give me a drinking cup.’

Segrim picked up a pewter goblet from the floor, tossing the dregs of red wine from it on to the rushes. He passed it to Saphira. She filled it from the cauldron, and sat beside Alexander Eddington. She lifted him easily with her right arm and held the goblet up to his lips.

‘Here, drink this. All of it.’

Alexander groaned, shaking his head. But Saphira persisted.

‘Imagine it is a fine Rhenish.’

Alexander opened a bleary eye and Saphira saw the redness in them. Like devil’s eyes. This was a clear sign of arsenic poisoning. He drank deeply, spluttering a little at the taste. She replenished the goblet and forced him to drink again. He did so, and then began to heave and groan. She stepped back from the bed, just as Eddington lurched upward and vomited noisily over the side and on to the floor.

‘What have you done?’ cried Segrim. ‘He is worse.’

Eddington himself now saw who had been treating him and raised a shaky finger to point at Saphira.

‘She is Falconer’s accomplice. Why have you let her in here to finish the deed?’

Saphira stayed calm and smiled as the patient once more vomited over the floor. She steeled herself to observe what he had brought up. He obviously had had much red wine in his stomach from the watery spew that was spreading across the floor. But there were also semi-digested lumps of food. She explained what she had done.

‘No, I have not finished you off.’ She looked at Sir Humphrey. ‘It is essential first to rid his stomach of whatever has poisoned him. That much we have achieved already. Then he will drink plenty of milk and fats to neutralize the poison and line his stomach, so there is a barrier between the poison and his tissues. I dare say he will begin to feel better soon.’

Eddington flopped back on his bed, holding his head.

‘I am dying.’

‘On the contrary, you are going to survive. Now you have rid your body of what poisoned you. Can you say what you have been eating recently?’

Sir Humphrey butted in.

‘That is what is curious. He eats at my table, of course, and drinks of my wine. We have all shared the same food. What could have caused this?’

Eddington groaned.

‘I know. The sweetmeats. Ann came back from the nunnery one day with a supply of dried dates and figs that the prioress had given her. I love sweet things. I could not bear to see them wasted after Ann… passed away. I have been eating them the last few days.’

There was a cry behind them and the crash of a heavy bucket hitting the floor. Margery had only just returned from the dairy with warm, creamy milk to hear Eddington’s admission of greed. The bucket had fallen from her grip and the rich milk was running across the floor in a bluish river.

‘Oh, Lord. The sweetmeats. The mistress ate some every day. I even tempted her with some when she was ill. I took some to her on the day she died.’

She looked in horror from one startled face to another.

‘I poisoned her.’

Having sent Sekston back to Oxford to summon Thomas and Bullock, Saphira rode as swiftly as possible up the river bank towards Wytham woods. She hoped that Cornish had not already said something that would send Sister Margaret over the edge. As she galloped, her mind was in turmoil trying to figure out what had driven the nun to poison Ann Segrim. It obviously had to do with Ann’s questioning of the nuns about the earlier death. If Margaret was guilty of causing Marie’s death, she would then have wished to silence Ann Segrim. But once Ann had come to the conclusion she did about the cause of Marie’s death – that is, self-murder – was there any point? Margaret had seemed ambivalent about the slur on Marie’s name when she spoke to Saphira. She had hinted to it as a possibility because of the herbs she had found. But then she had been vehement about Marie’s purity. Self-murder was a terrible sin before God. Mother Gwladys had concealed the possibility in order to spare the dead girl, and the nunnery, the shame. But it appeared more likely now that Margaret had killed Marie herself, and then tried to kill Ann before she spoke to the prioress about her conclusions. It was unfortunate that the arsenic hadn’t worked in time. Margaret must then have been horrified that Ann hadn’t revealed her complicity, and she had been in the clear. More so because she saw she couldn’t prevent Ann later eating the poisoned sweetmeats without giving away her guilt.

Saphira had barely reached this conclusion when she was in sight of Godstow nunnery. Her horse clattered over the bridge and she pulled on the reins in a strangely silent courtyard. There was no sign of Hal Coke and, more alarmingly, the door leading into the nunnery was ajar. She slipped off the horse’s back and strode over to the entrance. Suddenly, Ralph Cornish appeared in the doorway, his face a ghastly grey, and shock showing in his deep-set, brown eyes.

TWENTY-SEVEN

S
ister Margaret was hanging from one of the beams in her cell, a stout cord round her neck. Peter Bullock looked up at the way the cord was pinched tight round her throat, and at her bulging eyes speckled red with broken blood vessels. He cast a glance at Thomas Symon, who stood in one corner of the cell transfixed by the sight.

‘No doubt, then?’

‘What? Oh…’ The young scholar tore his horrified gaze from the unfortunate nun’s purple face, and the protruding tongue. ‘No, Master Bullock. I am sure she died from asphyxiation caused by the cord.’

Bullock contained his impatience, knowing this was new territory for the youth.

‘I mean, she inflicted it upon herself.’

‘Ah. I cannot say for sure, but there does not seem to be any signs of violence.’

In fact, Symon had not inspected the body closely. Nor did he think it appropriate for him to do so. She was, after all, a nun who had dedicated herself – body and soul – to God. Bullock sighed and climbed on to the bed. He took his dagger out to saw through the cord. As he did so, the body rocked and began to swing.

‘Thomas, take hold of her, for God’s sake. I only have one pair of hands.’

Thomas blushed, and stepping forward, held the still-warm body around the waist. He was very conscious of her female form, though she felt a little bony. He prayed silently for God’s forgiveness for any unclean thoughts. Suddenly the cord was sundered by Bullock’s dagger and the corpse slumped over Thomas’s shoulder. He felt her breasts pressing against his back and almost dropped her there and then. Quickly, he stepped forward and tipped Margaret’s dead form on the bed of her cell. He wondered if he would ever be able to dissect a female in the same way his predecessor in Falconer’s service, Richard Bonham, had. At that moment, he doubted it. Hearing a gasp from the doorway of the cell, he stood away from the body. Mother Gwladys hurried over to the bed and arranged Margaret’s hands in a prayerful attitude.

‘However will we recover from this? Two deaths in a few weeks, and this one self-harm without a doubt.’

Bullock refrained from reminding the prioress that the previous one – the death of Marie – had probably been no accident, as Gwladys had asserted at the time. In fact, it was now likely that the one had led to the other, together with the murder of Ann Segrim. Ralph Cornish was even now sitting in his office in the outer courtyard of the nunnery, after intimating that Margaret had as much as admitted to him that she had been responsible for Ann’s murder. The constable would not be surprised if the girl had killed Sister Marie too. Though he was past caring about that. Leave that for the prioress to sort out, as she attempted to clear the midden that was Godstow nunnery. It was far more important for him to carry the news of Margaret’s confession and suicide to Oxford, and the sheriff, in order to free Falconer.

When Peter had arrived at Godstow, he was first ushered into Cornish’s presence by Saphira Le Veske. She had taken control of the situation well, even forbidding the prioress from doing anything to Margaret’s body before the arrival of the constable. How she had managed that, Bullock did not know, but Gwladys’s face was thunderous. She had also made Cornish return to his office to await the constable. The man was quite subdued, and Bullock could see he had not coped well with what had happened around him. After blaming himself for not seeing Marie’s distress before her death, this second incident had obviously hit him hard. He had hardly been able to look Bullock in the eyes.

‘She more or less admitted to me that she was responsible in some way for Marie’s death. Though I could not get her to say exactly why. Either she killed her, or she gave her the potion that helped end her life. But she did say quite clearly that she killed Ann Segrim with arsenic, as she was scared that she would be accused by Mistress Segrim of Marie’s murder. She was a very disturbed child.’

‘If she told you she was the killer, why did you do nothing about it?’

Ralph sat up and looked Bullock in the eyes for the first time in their conversation.

‘I did. I did what was necessary. I told her to return to her cell and pray for forgiveness. Then I examined my own conscience, trying to decide if I should tell anyone about her confession.’

Bullock was outraged.

‘Tell anyone? Knowing that William Falconer had been found guilty of the murder – a verdict, you had been instrumental in affecting – how could you even think twice about not telling me.’

‘Because I am her confessor.’

Bullock crashed his fist on the table that stood between the two men, and Cornish flinched. He held his hands up in supplication.

‘I don’t expect you to understand. And I feel ashamed that I was somehow misled into thinking Falconer guilty. But the man is his own worst enemy. And he is still a fornicator.’

Bullock wished his world was as simple as the one inhabited by Cornish. At one time it had been. As a soldier, he had seen only in black and white. Friend and foe. He wished life was like that now for him, but Falconer had opened his eyes to shades of grey, and he could not avoid the shadows that loomed around the edges of death. He pointed a horny finger at the priest.

‘Stay here.’

He went off to view the body in situ.

Now, after dealing with the dead nun, and leaving her in Gwladys’s care, he returned to Ralph Cornish. With Thomas hovering indecisively in the background, he let the man go.

‘You can return to Oxford. In fact, you can do something for me.’

‘What is that? Pray for your salvation?’

‘No. You can tell your Chancellor Thomas Bek that I am releasing William Falconer, and will be advising the king’s justices when they arrive that the case is solved. Sister Margaret killed Ann Segrim for fear of her involvement in the other nun’s death being discovered. You can also tell Bek that I wouldn’t be surprised if his days as chancellor are numbered when they find out what he has done. And how badly he has done it.’

Ralph rose and hurried from the room, glad to be released. Thomas Symon patted the constable on the back.

‘That was a fearfully strong speech, Constable Bullock. It was worthy of Master Falconer himself.’

Bullock grinned broadly.

‘It was, wasn’t it? I was quite proud of myself. It is not often I get a chance to chastise a master of the university.’ He looked over Thomas’s shoulder. ‘Where is Saphira?’

It was Symon’s turn to smile.

‘I think she wanted to be the first to tell Falconer the news.’

When Bullock and Symon got back to St George’s Tower, the pair were waiting in his chamber. Falconer rose and took his hand.

‘Congratulations, Peter. You have solved another case. And without my interference this time.’

Bullock almost blushed but took the plaudits well.

‘Mistress Le Veske and Thomas, here, did their bit too, I will admit. I have sent a message to Bek, and I don’t think he will bother you any more. The authority of the Black Congregation in murder was always dubious, anyway. As far as I am concerned, you are free to go.’

Saphira stood up and took Falconer’s hand.

‘Come. Rebekkah will have left some food for me, and she always prepares too much. You can share it with me and forget all about Agnes’s little pleasures.’

There was a hint of a sparkle in Saphira’s eyes as she spoke those final words. It was an invitation that Falconer could not resist. After a week in the Bocardo, he was a free man. He and Saphira left Peter and Thomas broaching open a new barrel of ale, and walked down Fish Street towards Jewry. A few curious folk eyed them, some no doubt recognizing Falconer as an accused murderer. He did not care what they thought. The gossip would soon catch up with reality. However, standing on the threshold of Saphira’s house, he still hesitated. Her reputation mattered to him. She laughed at his uncertainty and dragged him inside.